My Sweet Addiction
by unleashed-demons
Summary: His name is Tweek Tweak. He's a paranoid, die-hard coffee-addict and the person he least expects becomes his new addiction-his sweet addiction. Creek. Rating will change for future chapters.


**My Sweet Addiction**

**Chapter One **

The teacher's going on and on about something that I could really care less about. I don't even think it's related to school at all. I honestly don't even know why I come to this school every day just to hear the teacher blab on about her personal life. My eyes keep on twitching every second and the world around me keeps on going from black to white, black to white.

Per usual.

I'm kicking my shoes together, pulling out my hair and blinking my eyes every moment. Tests. I hate them. They always get me worked up. And for what? It's not like I'm even gonna go to college. Gah! Slavery! Okay, Tweek, calm down. But no matter how much I try to calm myself down, I can't handle all the pressure. Too much pressure!

Then—

Oh Jesus!

My pencil drops and I'm finally able to look away from all of those numbers. Too many numbers. Too hard to concentrate. I can't take it.

Craig.

It's under his — it's under Craig's foot. Maybe I should just forget about the test. It's only one test, and Craig _hates_ me! But what if my parents find out and they kill me? I'm only sixteen! Gah — why can't I calm down? _Just calm down, Tweek._

I tap him on the shoulder, trying to get his attention. I should say something. "C-Craig?" I whisper.

He must be looking at me like I'm crazy. Everybody thinks I'm crazy. I can't help it though. I wish I could, wish I could stop the twitching just so people would stop looking at me like I'm a freak. ADD. I hate it.

Craig turns to face me, flips me off—per usual—and then turns back around. Oh God, I know he doesn't want to talk to me. Everyone hates me; I'm not too surprised. I'm used to it.

I completely forget about my pencil. There are more important things on my mind right now. I need to ask Craig something, something that's been on my mind for a while now. It's been killing me, this sinking feeling. I still can't believe I haven't talked to him about it yet, but I have the chance now and I think I'm going to take it.

I start talking anyway, so he turns to face me again, and it takes me a second to realize I can't see him clearly because of my hair. I brush it behind my ear, and, at least I have his attention now. I don't want to irritate him,_ god no_, I just have to get something off my chest that has been bothering me for a long time.

The words come out so fast that I'm not even sure what I'm saying. "I-I know we haven't talked since the fight, but you don't think I'm still a—gah—pussy, do you?"

I haven't talked to Craig since the fourth grade. It's been six years since then, and I was having a lot of hesitation to talk to him, but I realize now that I can't let this bother me anymore. I have to talk to him. God, maybe he still hates me! No, I _know_ he hates me. That's a given. He's gotten stronger since we fought, so who knows what he could do to me now? I'm probably pissing him off. I'm not saying he wasn't stronger before, of course not! All I'm saying is that now if I ever get on his nerves he could kill me. Would. He would kill me.

I have no idea what made me start to talk to him again, but I know I need to clear things out with him. I'm not the type of person who likes to start fights, and I didn't do anything, so I don't know why he always flips me off. Maybe he can't help it. I know there's a lot of things I can't help either, like my twitching or my addiction to coffee.

Craig, after a long silence, impassively: "Do you think I'm still a poopeater?"

I just keep on shaking, blinking at him. "Jesus, no! I would never call someone a poopeater."

He narrows his eyes. "Cartman said that's what you called me in the fourth grade. He also said you made fun of Stripe."

I don't reply. I'm shaking too much.

"W-who's Stripe?" I ask, not wanting to irritate him. Agh — I probably am irritating him. I know I am. He probably wants me to leave him alone.

A wide grin spreads across his face. "My hamster, Stripe. He makes me _sooo_ happy."

So I say, "I-I would n-never make fun of your hamster! Gah!"

He looks at me intently, cocking his eyebrow. "You didn't make fun of Stripe?"

I shake my head.

"Hey, look. It was fourth grade, man. It's done with," Craig tells me. I can tell he just wants to let it go. He doesn't hate me after all. "So are we cool now? You and me?"

I sigh in relief. We're cool. He doesn't hate me and he doesn't want to beat me up. I can't believe I've been worrying about this all these years. What was I thinking? Why am I so paranoid about everything? Why can't I just let it go? All these years, after thinking he hates me or even wants to kill me, he doesn't.

I lean back in my seat. I can feel myself shaking. "Y-you mean it?"

"Sure." Craig replies in a small nod, adding, "You know, Red Racer's on tonight. You maybe wanna come over to my house after school and we can watch it with Stripe?"

That's a long living hamster, I think. And he even wants to hang out with me. Craig wants to hang out with me! I'm actually pretty glad I talked to him. I usually keep to myself and let myself be paranoid about something forever, but this time I was finally able to get it off my chest. I don't have to worry about it anymore.

"Y-yeah. T-that'd be f-fun." I answer, managing to get the words out and shooting him a smile. "Will there be coffee?"  
Craig smiles back at me, the kid with no emotion. "There'll be coffee."

I don't remember the last time someone invited me over. If I remember correctly, I think the last time anyone ever invited me over were the kids who I did a project with a long time ago, but they seemed to hate me and I had to go home because of the underwear gnomes.

He almost turns back around, but I'm able to talk before he does. I twitch. "Uh, and Craig?"

"Yeah?"

"C-could I have my pencil back?" I ask him, trying not to stutter and twitch too much. I can't help it. I need coffee. "Your foot is kind of on it."

He smiles—handing me the pencil—and I smile, too.

It's a start.

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**A.N:** _Love it? Hate it? REVIEW!_


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